


Alone

by watchtheskiesfall_98



Series: Diabolik Lovers - Slave AU [1]
Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Prostitution, Romance, Sex, Slavery, slave AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheskiesfall_98/pseuds/watchtheskiesfall_98
Summary: In a world where vampires are kept as slaves, Laito is used as nothing more than a sex toy. But things become more complicated than that after the visit of one customer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is based off of an AU I created on my Tumblr, @diabolixlov3rs, so I hope you like it! ^.^

Empty pleasure wracks his body, the face of the woman beneath him contorting as she cries out a name that isn’t his. Some customers are like this, coming to people like him simply so they can imagine him as someone else—someone they desperately want to love them. After a while you start to understand that there are only a few types of people who use people like him.  


The first type is the most common, the kind that is only in it for the self-gratification. They’re the ones that come to him solely for pleasure, thinking that someone like him can make them feel things they can’t find elsewhere. And maybe they’re right, maybe he does give them more pleasure than a normal person, the nature of his being along with decades of experience giving him an edge over humans.  


Then there are those who are just lonely, seeking some sort of relief from the lives they perceive as so terrible. Years ago, he used to think about telling those people about his life, making them see that what they’re escaping from is nowhere near the horror that he goes through every day. But instead he feeds their desperation, satiating their desires in the way he’s been taught to do since he was a child.  


Pain is the pleasure of other people—they just need to twist, hurt, and break something until they feel better about themselves. These are the people who rarely use him sexually, only spending the time they pay for beating and torturing him. Maybe it makes them feel in control in a world where they can control nothing, or maybe it makes them happy to be the abuser rather than the abused. It doesn’t matter to him really; he costs too much, is too valuable for them to do anything that would scar his body, so the pain is never as bad as it could be.  


The last kind of person is the worst kind. They’re the ones who pity him, who try to reach out and save him. Because in the end they always lose interest, always leave. Sometimes one little thing convinces them that their pity is wasted on a creature like him, and sometimes they just get bored of caring and go back to their lives. No matter the reason, it’s those people that destroy his faith in the human race over and over again.  


He finds it funny, as he lies in wait for the next customer, that all of humanity can be boiled down into four factions. None of those categories seem to fit him, but, of course, he’s not human. And therein lies the problem.  


A hesitant knock catches his attention, and he inhales deeply before standing and making his way over to the door. When he opens it, a woman stands there, face lathered in makeup that fails to hide the faint wrinkles around her eyes, perfectly styled blonde hair obviously dyed to hide gray streaks. He can already tell what kind of woman she is—one of the ones who needs to ease her own loneliness, in the form of a rich, middle-aged woman who doesn’t receive the attention she desires from her husband.  


“Come in.” He leads her inside, putting on a smile that will never reach his eyes. Humans age so quickly, and he finds himself studying the slight way her skin seems to sag, the dark circles under her eyes that she made a valiant effort to hide with makeup. Often he wonders why humans hide their true faces around people like him—it’s not as if he cares, he treats them all the same anyway. Why look nice for a glorified prostitute?  


Undoing the buttons one by one, she slides an expensive, white coat off her shoulders, draping it on a chair and beginning to pull off her gloves of the same color. The rich fabric of her elegant, deep red gown reveals that she has just come from some sort of event, and that she is quite possibly the wealthiest customer he has ever served. In fact, he wonders why she has come to him when she can so obviously afford a first blood. He is expensive, so expensive that only a certain class of people could even dream of renting him for the night. But still there are those of even a higher class than him.  


“I’ve heard you’re the best, you know.” She speaks eloquently, ruby red lips spewing out some semblance of dignity. But how much dignity can one have if they must come to someone like him to satisfy their desires?  


“Maybe I am.” His tone is sly as he moves towards her, careful not to touch her since he has yet to receive permission. This game of cat and mouse always excites him, every bit of it excites him. Because he gets to receive pleasure nearly every day—shouldn’t he feel happy about that?  


“Unzip me.” She commands, turning her back to him. He moves her long hair out of the way, intentionally ghosting his fingers across the back of her neck, trailing them downwards until they reach the zipper of her dress. A few moments later and it hits the ground, and she slips matching heels off her feet as she steps out of the dress and turns to face him again.  


Lacy, black undergarments adorn her body, perhaps because she thinks it makes her more beautiful. The reality of it is that it only makes her seem more desperate, like she is trying to validate to herself that she can still attract the opposite sex. She may have been beautiful once, and is arguably still a handsome woman, but she will never be what she truly wants. Appearances are meaningless to him though—it’s all sex in the end anyway.  


His lips hover above hers for a moment, building the tension between them, before he gives her a gentle kiss. Her sharp intake of breath confirms his theory, that her husband hasn’t touched her or taken interest in her like this for years. That’s what he’s here for, after all. Fingers run down her sides, coming to rest at her thighs and pressing her hips against his, making sure that she can feel him.  


Warmth starts to spread across his ice cold skin as he deepens their kiss, pulling back at all the right moments before delving back into her mouth, adding his tongue into the equation. That’s all this is—an equation. Every step of this process has been calculated by him to maximize her pleasure, make her feel things she never thought were possible. Because that’s what she has paid for.  


He keeps things slow and passionate as he kisses down her neck, maybe lingering for a bit too long on the feel of her heartbeat beneath the skin before continuing down to her chest. Unclipping her bra and dropping it to the floor, his lips close around one of her nipples, enjoying the feel of her fingers tangling in his hair, the sound of the slight, nearly inaudible moan that escapes her lips.  


Returning to kissing her lips, he hooks an arm around her waist, slowly lowering her down onto the bed. Careful not to rest his full weight on her, he climbs over her body, pressing his hips against her, shifting them just a little every once in a while, delightful little moans beginning to escape her mouth. He moans too, because he knows his customers like it and because he also takes pleasure in this, obsessed with the twisting sensation he feels in his stomach every time.  


The rest of their clothes leave them as they grow more passionate, moans growing louder, desire becoming stronger until he finally begins to slip himself inside. She feels so warm and tight around him that he begins to lose his senses, and he freely lets them go. His pleasure is genuine, and maybe that’s why he is so popular.  


As he begins to thrust into her, every movement agonizingly slow, he drowns himself in the sensations this causes. Everything grows more heated, his kisses becoming deeper, taking her harder, faster, until she is a moaning mess, begging him for more. And he’s addicted to this pleasure, this feeling, because other than this, he feels nothing at all. There is only sex, only pleasure.  


“Ah—nn—I love—mn!” It’s not him she loves, it’s someone else. It’s the man she’s imagining herself in the arms of, the one she wishes would take her the way he is. But it makes no difference to him as his thrusts become uneven, sloppy, and he waits for her to come, a cry of pleasure torn from her lips before he allows himself ecstasy. And it _is_ ecstasy as lets his orgasm wash over him, savoring this one sensation as a way to block everything else out.  


Then it is over, and he’s taking care of her, helping her dress, saying sweet parting words that mean nothing as she walks out the door. Another customer will come soon, and she is just one of many, probably never to see him again.  


At least, that’s how things were supposed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Before he even opens the door he can sense the rage burning in the man behind it. The man is tall, well-dressed, distinguished, gray streaked through his slicked-back, dark hair. A fist connects with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Another hit and he’s on the ground, breathing heavily, but not fighting back—he has no right to. If this man wants to hurt him, he is obligated to sit back and let it happen, taking every kick, every blow, silently and obediently.

But as his blood spills everywhere, he realizes that the man isn’t going to stop, and that he is in more pain than he’s ever been in before. Aren’t these types of people not supposed to scar him? The beating continues, though, until a man and a woman—his handlers—rush in and drag the violent man out. It’s not that they care about his safety, just that they care about the value of their investment. 

As an argument ensues outside the door, he picks himself up from the ground, staring into the mirror at his bloodied face. His wounds will heal quickly, most of them in a matter of hours probably, but his internal damage may take longer. Grabbing a towel, he wets it and begins to clean the blood off of himself. 

“How much for him then?” An angry voice calls out, and he freezes in his tracks. No. Surely that’s not possible. He’s not even considered for sale, there’s no way the company would give up their most prized investment, no way anyone could ever have enough money to convince them— 

“Come here.” The door flies open and the man from before is stalking over to him. “I am you master now, and you will be coming with me.” 

“Yes.” He bows his head obediently, but his heart cries out to resist. He doesn’t want to be owned, doesn’t want to be taken away from this place. Here he is…not happy. Happy wouldn’t be the word. Here, within the walls of this wretched human establishment, he can accept what he is. But outside of this there is nothing. 

Still, he follows the man out the door, out of the building, and into a shiny, black limousine. The ride passes in absolute silence, and the longer they drive, the more he begins to cave in on himself. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to go to a home, not with this man. 

“What are you called?” The man breaks the silence, voice gruff and angry. 

“I am Laito.” He responds politely, bowing his head. 

“Be respectful to your master.” The man snaps in return, and Laito just barely manages to keep himself from flinching. 

“Forgive me, master.” He whispers, the weight of reality beginning to create a crushing feeling in his chest. This feeling is familiar to him—fear. But he’s never felt it at this magnitude before, never been so terrified of a human that his fingers tremble where he has them clasped in his lap. At least, not since he was a child. 

A mansion slides into view, large turrets towering higher than anything he could have ever imagined. It had never crossed his mind that houses could be this large, that a single family could have this much money. If not for the fear ever-present in his heart, he would be awed by the structure. 

His master leads him inside, through the front gates, past guards stationed outside, and into the foyer. Standing there is a woman he seems to recognize, except her face is no longer painted, clothes no longer beautiful, bruises evident on her body. She is the woman who came to see him the previous day, and his new master must be her husband. 

“W-What is this?” Her eyes widen when she sees him, looking frantically between him and her husband. “You didn’t—” 

“I’ve bought your toy, see?” The man laughs cruelly, gripping Laito’s arm and thrusting him towards the woman. He stumbles, helpless to do anything but let them push him around. 

“This is cruel.” She growls in response, shrinking away. But he notices the flash of lust in her eyes when she looks at him, that tiny bit of herself that’s happy she owns him. All humans are truly the same, aren’t they? 

“As cruel as being cheated on with a plaything, perhaps?” His master responds, drawing nothing but silence in reply. 

“Leave me alone.” She whispers, a tremor in her voice. 

“As I thought. Laito, come with me.” There is no choice but to be obedient, following the man all the way to a small bedroom. “This is where you’ll be staying.” 

“Yes, master.” He refuses eye contact, gaze fixed on the floor. It is all too much, he’s been bought by a jealous husband? But he’s ripped from his thoughts, thrown backwards as a fist makes contact with his already bruised jaw. 

“Every time you touch my wife, I will beat you. Do you understand?” All Laito can manage in response is a weak nod, knowing well that there is no escape from pain here. That woman is his master too, and he must obey her wishes—if he doesn’t he will be beaten and if he does, he will be beaten. It all results in the same, tragic end. 

Later, he sits on the bed, simply staring at the ceiling and wondering when she will come. It should be any minute now. Her eyes had revealed her inner thoughts, and he knows, just knows, that she won’t be able to hold back. Not when she owns one of the most coveted sex slaves in the industry. 

“So he put you here?” Her voice is soft when she comes in, and he notices a new bruise on her face. A smile almost creeps its way across his face, but he hides it instantly. The thought of one of his abusers, a human, becoming the abused gives him a strange sense of satisfaction. 

“He did, mistress.” He answers, tilting his head slightly at her. There are so many ways to draw them in, make them want him, he knows every trick. Because he likes sex just as much as they do, the feeling of pleasure it causes in his entire body. It makes the thought of his potential beating afterwards seem small and far away. She's not here to feel sorry for him, he can see it in the way she looks at him, eyes bearing her soul. 

Then she's sitting on the bed next to him, leaning up and kissing him with a desperation he is all too familiar with. And he drowning, burying himself in the pleasure, because he knows what's coming after won't be pretty. Why…why doesn’t he feel anything?


	3. Chapter 3

The beating that ensues is the worst he's ever received in his life, and he's beginning to lose track of time. How long has it been? The pain seems endless, every kick, every blow, merging together over the hours until he can't even seem to feel it anymore, body numb and lifeless.

What is wrong with humans? Is it just in their nature to be cruel? Something inside of them needs to twist and breaks things, satisfying some urge maybe. And things like him are the perfect target—dubbed inhuman, it's easy for humans to justify their treatment of people like him. He's just a monster, right? 

Dully he realizes that no one is hurting him anymore, his entire body throbbing as he drags himself across the floor, managing to pull himself to a sitting position. His back is against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, trembling slightly. He will heal. It will take more time than usual, but he will, only to be beaten again, continuously tortured by the people who own him. 

There's another presence, he can sense it. Peering through a crack in the door, someone different than either of his masters is watching him. This one is a girl, and she's scared, practically radiating fear. Finally the door pushes open as she gains confidence. 

This human is young, not quite an adult, but not a child either. Blonde hair frames her soft features, draping over fearful cerulean eyes. He supposes that if he were a human, he'd find her beautiful, but in the end all humans look the same to him—horrific, ugly, disgusting. 

“They said they bought one…” She speaks, and it occurs to him that she must be his masters’ daughter. “Are you really…” 

“A vampire?” He finishes for her. “Yes, I am.” 

“My parents said you're dangerous.” Taking a step towards him, he can see the curiosity light up in her eyes. No lust, no anger, just curiosity with traces of fear. That will change though, it always does. 

“I can't do anything you don’t order me to.” He reassures. After all, she is his master too, just another person who is allowed to use him as she pleases. At his words, she inches closer. 

“Did Father do that to you?” Oh. His face must still be bloody. 

“Yes.” Normally he would have cleaned it off by now, to look presentable for the next customer. But there is no next customer and there’s nothing to clean himself with, the blood simply beginning to dry on his face. In an instant she’s gone, dashing out of the room for some reason or another. Maybe he scares her too much, or maybe she hates looking at him—either way, it doesn’t matter. 

But he can hear the patter of her feet as she comes back down the hall slipping inside again, this time closing the door behind her. What could she possibly want this time? There’s something in her hand, something which lands at his feet after she tosses it towards him. It’s…a wet towel? 

He cautiously reaches out for it, keeping his eyes on her as she sits on the floor, still several feet away from him. She doesn’t want to get too close to the monster, the creature that is said to feed on humans. Not as if he is dangerous now, unable to do so much as defend himself, reduced to a pitiful object that shouldn’t even be alive in the first place. 

Slowly he begins to wipe all the blood off his face, careful in the spots that haven’t healed yet. She peers at him with curious blue eyes, taking him in as if she has never seen one of his kind before. And maybe she hasn’t. It is rare, but some humans keep their children sheltered from any exposure to vampires at all, despite what little threat they now hold to humanity. 

“All that blood…but you don’t look hurt.” She marvels quietly, leaning forward to try and see his face better, though he’s sure it must be difficult from her distance. 

“I heal quickly.” His response is simple as he tries to work out what she’s really here for. 

“Your face is…I mean, I can see why Mother would…” She trails off, cheeks burning in a way he thinks another human might think cute. As he thought, it all comes back around to lust in the end. 

“My face is hard to see from over there, isn’t it?” He tilts his head a little, adding to the effect of his words. She looks torn between her fear and her curiosity, but curiosity wins, and she’s inches towards him until she is only a foot away, studying him intensely. He wouldn’t mind having sex with her too, as long as it’s pleasurable in the end. But he senses that she’s a virgin, and virgins are harder to convince. 

“You’re very…” She can’t seem to finish her sentence, avoiding eye contact and gazing at the ground. “Do you actually have fangs?” Changing the topic quickly, she glances back up at him. He smirks inwardly at her obvious discomfort, knowing all the right ways to ease that. This person, eventually, will come to use him just like every other human. 

“Yes. Would you like to see them?” When he speaks, she perks up, obviously intrigued by his _condition_. After she gives a small nod, he opens his mouth, pulling back his upper lip a bit to expose the sharp teeth. She seems transfixed, leaning closer to stare at them, so close he can feel the warmth of her human body. 

“So you bite people with those?” 

“No.” He flinches, snapping his mouth shut and pressing his back further against the wall. Just the thought…just the thought terrifies him, knowing what happens to vampires who bite people—he shudders involuntarily. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She backs away a bit. “When you were—um— _with_ —my mother…she called you Laito?” 

“That is my name.” He confirms, gaze wandering from her eyes to her perfectly shaped, pink lips. “The things I do for your mother. I could do them for you as well. Whatever you require of me.” 

“N-No…!” She instantly scoots back, pale face burning red at his suggestion. But he knows humans, knows them inside and out, how their desires rule their actions. Even if it is not now, she will want him in the same way. It’s only a matter of time. Humans are so predictable. 

“I’m here whenever you want me.” Is all he says in return, observing the tiny flash of lust in her eyes as he does so. Just as he thought. She’s really no different from the rest of them. 

“I-I have to go.” She stands, scrambling out the room and shutting the door behind her, leaving him alone. But he doesn’t mind that, because even when people are with him, he always feels alone.


	4. Chapter 4

“I want you to say my name. Nn—it's—Leila...!”

“Leila…” He moans obediently in her ear. Their bodies are strained, sweaty, both of them nearing the edge. “Leila, Leila!” That name leaves his lips over and over, though it holds no meaning. Every time she comes to him, she's more desperate, more broken, because no matter how many times she uses him, he will never be a replacement for her husband. A sick satisfaction comes from knowing this, knowing that the woman who owns him will always be just as empty as he is. 

“A-aaah!” She cries out underneath him, body shuddering and arching in pleasure of the kind a human could never give her. Even if her husband were to give her the attention she desires, it would never compare to the ecstasy Laito can make her feel—there's no way for her to turn out happy now. And he's driven into pleasure as well, groaning as a familiar burning sensation shoots through his body and he fills her just the way she asked. But only emptiness follows, never truly satiated yet always wanting more. In that way, maybe he and Leila are the same. 

“Why doesn’t he love me?” Her voice trembles much like her body does, arms wrapping around his back and pulling his body closer on top of her. Love. Such an idiotic idea. 

“Of course he loves you.” He soothes, running his fingers through her hair, knowing that his master loves no one, not even Leila. But it's what she wants to hear and he's obligated to continue reassuring her with empty phrases until her body stops shaking and she becomes peaceful again. 

Then she's leaving, finished with him until she feels lonely again. It doesn't occur to her that her husband will come beat him later, that her pleasure causes him pain. Because she is human, and satiating her own selfish desires means more to her than anything else in the world. Selfish, the word that perfectly describes the human race—does nothing else matter to them? 

Approaching footsteps stir a sense of dread inside of him, one he can never get used to. Before, no one could beat him without inhibition. Before, his hands didn’t start to tremble every time he sensed a human presence. Before, it was better. He wants it back, the time when he was just a sex object and nothing more, the time when all he felt was pleasure, pleasure that drowned out the emptiness inside him. Now he's afraid, as the door opens, his master’s face darkened with rage. No, he’s more than afraid—he’s _terrified_. 

“Filth!” The blows begin, each one carrying a new, degrading phrase. _It's not my fault_ , he wants to scream, _I was following orders!_ But in the end he can do nothing, simply letting his master do as he wishes, even as the pain becomes unbearable, even as everything inside him begs to defend himself. He's helpless, desolate, why is he even alive? What's the point? There's no future, only this, nothing to justify his pathetic, tortured existence. So why not let it end? 

All his muscles relax, his master’s voice fading until it sounds faint and far away. The pain ebbs into a dull ache, eyes shutting, consciousness becoming fuzzy. Beating a vampire to death—he’s never heard of that happening given how resilient they are. But maybe it's as easy as letting go, not caring anymore. What does life truly hold for him other than more pain and despair? 

“Stop it!” A familiar voice drags him back to reality, the stinging, aching of his body overtaking his senses. His eyes crack open to see a flash of blonde hair before everything slips away and there is nothing but darkness. He's not dead—he knows that. Apparently letting go isn't enough for someone like him, he should have known dying wouldn't be that easy. Nothing is ever that easy. But if he could stay like this for a while that would be nice, just floating in the midst of nothing, feeling no pain, no fear, just…empty. And it's peaceful. Why can't he die? 

“I'm sorry…” A gentle voice invades his thoughts. No, he wants to stay. Opening his eyes only means the pain will continue. But she continues to speak, slowly, carefully drawing him from the depths of his mind until his eyes slit open just enough to see her brilliant blue eyes. He doesn’t want this, every part of him aches, why couldn’t she have left him alone? A cool sensation on his face prompts him to take a breath and open his eyes further, noting how her face lights up when she sees he's awake. 

“You're amazing, you know?” She smiles a little, removing the wet cloth from his face and setting it on the table beside her. “It's only been a few hours but your face has already healed.” Humans are impressed so easily. Though she is right, for the most part his face feels fine, but the rest of his body… 

“Kh!” When he tries to move, pain shoots through his body, and he collapses back onto the bed. 

“Don't! You'll just hurt yourself more.” Her fingers reach out to touch him, but he flinches and begins to cave in on himself. The reaction is involuntary, human touch equating to pain in his mind. She retracts, albeit a bit sadly, but she does, placing her hands in her lap. There is silence for a while, and he wonders when she will leave, how long he has to endure her presence. Kindness always comes at a price, a high price, and he'd prefer if she weren't kind at all. 

“Why…why does my mother go to you?” Her question perks his attention. 

“Because I'm the best at what I do.” That isn't the answer she wanted, he knows. 

“That’s not what I meant.” She frowns. 

“Your mother…” he sighs, too tired to be cunning, too hurt to play the game, giving up and telling her the truth. “She uses me as a cheap imitation of what she desires from your father.” The sad looks in her eyes tells him that she already knew this, and his words were simply confirmation. She doesn't seem to be able to respond, staring despondently at her lap. And he's not inclined to comfort her, all humans deserving of any pain that comes to them. 

“You should sleep.” She finally suggests, a hopeful look in her eyes. 

“I don’t sleep.” 

“Then rest, okay?” She sighs. “I'll check on you tomorrow.” As she leaves the room, he hopes she never comes back. After all, she is the worst kind of human, the kind that tries to build up trust only to break it, build it up, then break it again. Humans don’t know how to do anything other than break. Her presence irritates him, makes him want to leave this place even more. Don’t come back. 

But she does come back, checking on his wounds for a few days until they're completely healed. Her parents had left him alone, having no use for him while his body was broken. He knows that now he's fully healed, the whole process will happen over again, in a never-ending loop of pleasure and pain—and not the good kind of pain. 

Life feels so pointless, this is what he has to look forward to until his masters die, and then he gets to go back. But back to what? Even if he wasn’t beaten, even if he received the constant gratification of sex, he was still used. Was that really any better? For so long, this has been his life, and the thought of it, any of it, continuing for eternity is agonizing. Death is the better option, because there's really no future for him, is there?


	5. Daughter's POV

Light filters out through the crack in the door, illuminating the hallway just enough to cast unpleasant shadows across the walls, writhing just like my stomach seems to at the thought of walking inside. But he requested my presence, so I must go inside. With one deep breath to prepare myself, I give the door a light rap with my knuckles, not waiting for permission before the door creaks open and I let myself inside.

“You called for me, Father?” I ask politely. He stands with his back to me, posture elegant, everything about him pristine. No matter how much of an ogre he may be at home, he certainly knows how to keep up public appearances. And that’s all that seems to matter to him too—his reputation. Even if his reputation would be nonexistent if it weren’t for me. 

“What were you thinking earlier?” His tone is cold, smooth. Like he’s waiting for me to say just the wrong thing before he gets really angry, giving him a reason to hurt me like he hurts Mother, like he hurts that poor slave. I always bend to his will, constantly strive to meet his demands, but today I intend on standing firm. 

“You were going to kill him.” I reply simply. 

“You can’t kill an object, dearest.” As he turns to face me, his eyes are far from warm, daring me to speak out against him, just waiting for justification to pounce. 

“Last I checked, objects don’t breathe, speak, and feel.” The consequences for my attitude will most likely be terrible, but I can’t stand to submit to him yet again, giving up my freedom of thought and opinion to stay out of harm’s way. I just can’t do it anymore. I should be allowed to defend what I believe. 

“Insolent girl!” He snaps, hand reaching out and connecting with my face. This was a bad idea. But I can’t take back defending Laito, I simply can’t. That look in his eyes, like he would rather _die_ than live on in pain haunts me. I’ve been raised my whole life to view the slaves—the vampires—as something less than human, something wretched and disgusting. But how can something that has no soul have such desolate eyes? 

“I won’t apologize for it.” I’m taking it too far, letting my emotions get away with me. But every time I try to remain silent, all I can think of is how broken he is, how he flinched when I tried to touch him, how the best possible outcome of his life he could wish for is to have no life at all. How can I let something like that go? 

But I can see the rage that sparks in my father’s eyes, and it only takes a few blows for him to have me on my knees, begging for forgiveness, apologizing profusely for interfering. Because I am weak, and my will is never strong enough to survive through the pain. I wonder how Laito does it, just lying there motionless as someone beats him to death. What things must he have gone through as a child to be so conditioned that he wouldn’t even try to defend himself? 

“I told you never to touch my daughter!” My mother’s arms are wrapping around me from behind, dragging me away from the man who can hardly be labeled a _father_. “We agreed, you would never harm her!” There’s a waver in her voice, and I find myself hating her just as much as I hate him. This is just as much her fault, her own pathetic obsession with my father tying her to him like a noose. But that same noose is wrapped around my own neck as well, and I am helpless to escape. 

“We will talk about this later.” He growls, stalking out of the room, my mother’s arms tightening around me as he passes. And when the door slams behind him, she lets me go, collapsing onto the floor and bursting into tears. She’s pathetic. I am too. But she’s worse. Groveling to him without even a second thought, begging for his attention. And she uses the slave too, just in a different way from my father. It disgusts me. 

“You shouldn’t disobey your father like that, especially for the likes of that slave.” After pulling herself together, she turns to me, eyes red-rimmed, mouth drawn into a tight line. 

“You…it’s your fault he hurts Laito!” Something inside of me snaps, and I’m jumping to my feet, rage building inside of me. How can she tell me to listen to my father after he would beat me for such a simple matter? She’s going to blame it on me? As if it’s my fault my father hurts people? No, it’s wrong, it’s disdainful, how can she even suggest that? 

“Better that _thing_ than us!” She shouts in return. 

“That…thing?” There are no words. None. We call the vampires the monsters, we scare children with stories of how they kill humans, drink their blood. I never knew what to expect when I first met a vampire, but a creature too broken to feel anything but terror was not it. How can we call them the monsters? My thoughts on vampires were so uncertain, filled with tales from my childhood, but now…now I know that it’s not us who need to be protected from them. Maybe that’s how it used to be, but not anymore. 

“Yes, Laito is a thing, dear, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner things will be alright with our family again.” My mother picks herself up off the floor, as if she actually has any dignity left to her name, and I am appalled. For her to suggest that my sympathy for a tortured slave is what is causing problems in our family…it makes me sick. 

“Things will never be alright. Because the source of our problems is Father.” 

“Don’t speak of him like that!” But I have lost interest in listening to her, knowing she won’t do anything about it anyway. I just…want to see Laito again. Those broken eyes, empty of everything but fear—I want to fix them, to make him believe a human can be good. But am I good enough? Can I ever be good enough? Already the thought of him touching me makes my stomach twist, and he’s only offered himself once. Maybe I truly am no different from any other human, maybe I will be the one to show him once and for all that no human could ever be good. But if I don’t try…I could never live with myself.


	6. Chapter 6

“Laito!” The voice jerks him to attention, mind running through all the things he could have possibly done wrong. Nothing, he hasn't done anything, why is his master here today? The tall man stalks through the door, looking down on him like he always does. He doesn't think he could bear it if he were beaten again, he had just barely gotten over the last time, some of the wounds still smarting.

“Yes, master?” It's not intentional, but there's a waver to his voice that has never been there before. His master takes a step closer, causing him to flinch involuntarily. There's a long silence, as if the man is considering something, speculating as to whether or not to say what’s on his mind. 

“Can you do anything?” He finally asks. 

“I…I'm sorry, I don’t understand.” Eyes trained on the ground, Laito clasps his hands together in front of him to keep them from shaking. At least before there was a reason for the beatings, if his master were to start hurting him for no reason at all…he doesn't think he could bear it. 

“Idiot.” Disgust fills his master’s voice, a slap across the face his punishment for lack of understanding. “Can you play any instruments, do anything useful?” So his master isn't here to hurt him? All his muscles relax, breath leaving his lungs in a short exhale—but he should still be on his guard, anything is possible with humans. 

“I can play piano if you wish.” It was part of his training from childhood, right when he was singled out as special. They had told him to pick an instrument, the memories of all the grueling hours he was forced to put into perfecting his skills still all too vivid. But it turned out to be one of his escapes, one of the two things in his miserable life that keeps him from feeling empty. He hasn’t been able to play from his heart, away from the prying ears of humans, for a long time though. 

“Come.” His master’s words are stiff, eyes narrowed in uncertainty, but he follows, knowing he has no other choice. Led to a large room filled with instruments, the sleek, black surface of a piano catches his eye. As he sits on the bench, noting his master’s watchful glare, he rests the tips of his fingers against the dusty keys. It's been a long time since a human has asked him to play and this piano must be severely out of tune, but he begins. 

Pressing his fingers against the keys, gentle at first, he becomes accustomed to piano, playing any tune that comes to mind. Humans use this as a form of self-gratification as well, asking him to play their favorite songs, set a mood, whatever they desire. But the instrument still holds some sort of comfort for him, despite the way in which humans tried to defile it. All his thoughts come to a stop as he hits the wrong key, a foul note ringing in his ears, muscles tensing for the worst. 

“Unacceptable!” Paired with a slap, his master’s accusation burns. It’s not his fault, he hasn't played in years, mistakes are to be expected. But his master doesn't care about such things, using every excuse possible to hurt him. The destructive habits of humans never cease to disgust him, they twist his insides with absolute hatred. 

“Forgive me.” A pathetic whisper is his only reply, knowing that releasing all his pent up rage will only cause him more harm. This is just his life, he's accepted that, hasn't he? 

“Practice until it sounds good. There's an event here tomorrow.” With those words, his master leaves, closing the door to the music room and locking it behind him. He is obviously expected to play until he can't anymore, knowing that every wrong note at the next day’s event will mean some sort of punishment. Even with all that, though, he can't seem to view playing the piano as a chore. 

So he plays for hours, perfecting every melody he knows until there is no chance he will mess it up, plays until he feels a presence in the hall outside the door. He tries to ignore it at first hoping she won't come inside, that for once she will just leave him alone, but that is not to be. With a click of the lock, the door creaks open, her slow footsteps approaching until she is hovering by his shoulder, peering at his fingers as they glide across the keys. 

“Laito…can you…can you teach me?” At her request, his fingers halt. 

“Yes, miss.” He responds diligently, moving over so there's room for her on the bench. 

“You don't have to call me miss.” She avoids eye contact, sitting a few inches away from him, yet still close enough that he can feel her warmth. “My name is Eoni.” It's just a name, yet she acts like it should be of more importance to him than simply calling her ‘miss’. But he calls them whatever they want him to call them, and Eoni is no different. 

“As you wish, Eoni.” He corrects himself, and then proceeds to teach her. Her fingers fumble quite a bit at first, but a slight nod gives him permission to touch her, and his hands cover hers to guide them better. As she begins to improve, his hands start to wander, traveling up her arms, pushing her silky hair to the side, lips nearing her skin— 

“I think that's enough for today.” Fingers freezing on the keys, Eoni jerks away from him, a slight blush tainting her pale cheeks. How long? How long until she gives into the lust that all humans are slave to? Judging by the way her hands shake, blue eyes glancing back at him as she escapes the room, it won't be long. 

And he longs to break her, make her addicted to him, because that's the only way he has to break a human. It's the very least form of torture he wishes to inflict on the human race, but it's enough to keep him going. The sight of a broken human fulfills some sort of sick desire to hurt those who have hollowed him out and made him nothing. It's pathetic really, that he's so limited. If it were in the realm of possibility, he would kill them all—slowly though, slowly so he could hear their cries of pain, listen to them begging for mercy only to provide no mercy at all. Because that's what every sick, disgusting human deserves. 

But those things are only possible in the depths of his mind, so he simply continues to play the piano as he was told. He plays all night and through the morning, waiting for his master to come tell him he can stop. It occurs to him that he is nothing but a puppet, bound to his masters’ every whim, subject to obey at the tug of a string. His insides writhe at the thought, yet the notes he plays remain light, joyful, elegant, as if he feels none of that at all. He wants to go back to feeling nothing, because that was so much better than the fear and hatred that now consumes him. 

It isn't until the late afternoon that his master returns, dragging him down to a large room, placing him at a new, more beautiful piano, and commanding him to play the music put in front of him. Even though his hands hurt, fingers sore from continuous playing, he begins the song anyway, no choice but to ignore the pain. Maybe one day…maybe he will kill them all.


	7. Chapter 7

As his fingers continue to glide across the keys, guests shuffle inside the ballroom, dressed in outfits so glamorous and expensive that it nearly disgusts him. How self-serving, to decorate your body with thousands of dollars simply to impress other humans and make yourself feel important. It doesn’t impress him at all, because he knows what lurks behind their ingenuous smiles, what dirty, disgusting creatures they are no matter how beautiful they pretend to be.  


She enters in a flash of red, rich gown distracting him from the piano keys only for a moment before he refocuses his energy. The dress accents her figure wonderfully, highlighting every asset she has, blonde hair draped across her back in luminous curls. It’s eye-catching, to be certain, but she still looks like a human to him—ugly.

A distinct abundance of male humans in the room draws his attention, and it occurs to him that Eoni’s parents may be trying to find her a husband. It is common for humans to do this when their daughters turn seventeen, from what he understands, though he can sense her unhappiness from across the room. Her eyes cry for help, bright smile as fake as his own, but he only continues to play, indifferent to her suffering. 

So the night drags on, every note becoming harder to play as his hands begin to cramp. He distracts himself by watching Eoni’s increasing attempts to escape male suitors, finding interest in her discomfort. It’s not as if he wants her to be happy, but he is curious as to why she isn’t. She has money, security, and soon she will be married to someone with more money who will provide her more security. Maybe she is one of those demented humans that believes in love, the ones with an ideological view of the world. Humans like that are deceiving—they’re the ones that get to you, gain your trust, only to change and become like every other human. And that’s why he hates her. 

“That’s the one I’ve heard about, isn’t it? Laito? I wasn’t even aware he was for sale.” A female voice redirects his thoughts, ears honing in on the conversation between this new woman and his master. 

“Ah yes, that’s my wife’s little plaything.” His master responds, barely attempting to hide his contempt. “She insisted we buy him.” It’s an obvious lie, but Laito is in no position to argue, pretending to focus solely on the notes he is playing. 

“He is just as attractive as I have heard.” 

“Take him for the night if you like.” At his master’s words, he nearly misses a note. He’s been aching to have sex with someone other than Leila, sorely missing the steady stream of customers he used to have before he was bought by this family. At least then things were interesting, at least then nobody beat and abused him. The thought of having some semblance of his life before thrills him, and he finds himself feeling lighter. Not happy, just less oppressed. 

“Really? I’ll take you up on that offer.” A few more words are exchanged between his master and the woman before she’s floating across the ballroom towards him, a smug smile creeping across her face. She’s different from Leila, who only uses him to fill the void her husband leaves. This woman is entirely focused on her own pleasure, determined only to use his body and be done with him. And it’s that kind of detached, empty sex he craves, desperate for one night away from the humans that make him feel fear, pain, despair. With this woman…he can feel nothing but pleasure and emptiness again. 

“Laito, is it?” Her voice is smooth and alluring, his fingers finally, finally stopping on the piano keys in order to respond properly. 

“Yes, miss.” 

“Call me Rina.” The corners of her thick, red lips pull upwards as she looks him over. Responding with a nod, he takes time to observe her as well. Dressed in a myriad of blues and greens—like a peacock—she is quite appealing to the eye. He supposes he must be starved for a change from Leila if he’s actually being swayed by physical appearance, though it hardly matters in the end. She will spend the night with him then she will be gone, and his life will remain the same. But for now…he can lose himself, right? 

“What do you require of me, Miss Rina?” His tone is charming, if not seductive, but what else is to be expected from one whose only purpose is sex? 

“That is the question, isn’t it Laito?” She reaches out a gloved hand, coffee colored eyes glinting with anticipation. Slipping his hand into hers, he stands from the piano bench and follows her out of the ballroom, down the hall, and into an empty bedroom. All he can do is wait for direction, itching to move things further along, skip to the part he enjoys— 

“Do you want me, Laito?” The slightest whisper in his ear sends a shiver down his spine, her lips trailing deliciously down his neck. 

“Yes, Miss Rina.” He responds obediently, tilting his head to expose more of the skin. His desire is for sex, not for her, so he supposes it is mostly the truth. Clothing rustles as her fingers unbutton his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and dropping it to the ground. He still hasn’t been given permission to touch her yet, helpless to do anything as her kisses gravitate towards his chest. The desire to be inside her is torturous, needing to empty himself of all thought and pain, if only for a little while. 

“Undress me too.” Those three words are all it takes for his hands to find their way to her body, unzipping her gown as carefully as he can manage, pressing his lips to hers in a deep, passionate kiss. And all emotions begin to slip away, replaced only by the sheer pleasure of intimacy, shedding the rest of his clothes, lowering her onto the bed. 

Still, he stays alert, fully aware that at any moment she could order him to stop, at any moment become dissatisfied with his actions. But the way she grips at his back, pleads for more escaping her lips, makes him confident that he is free to do as he wishes, entering her swiftly, taking only a moment to revel in the freedom it makes him feel. 

Free. This is the one time he can experience such a sensation, while he’s having passionate, empty sex with a woman he will never see again. And as that feeling in the pit of his stomach grows, loud moans drawn from his lips, he senses another presence, just outside the door—one that is scared and horrified, yet curious as well. It’s Eoni. 

Glancing over to the side, he can see her peeking through the crack in the door, wide-eyed, stricken with shock. But this only spurs him on, thrusts quickening, moans becoming nearly frantic. It’s good that she sees, realizes that he is beyond saving—maybe this will drive her to use him the way he knows she so desperately wants to. 

“T-Tell me you love me!” Rina’s voice from underneath him draws him back to the task at hand, and he braces his arms against the mattress as they both near their climax. 

“I love you!” He gasps. “Rina, I love you!” But he’s not looking at Rina, his eyes making contact with the brilliant blue ones that lie through the sliver of light creeping in from the hall. It’s a message, telling her this is what he is, this is what she will use him for, and that caring for him is pointless because he will never trust a human. 

“Ah—Laito!” Rina cries out, back arching into his body as he groans and comes soon after. For one, single moment, everything is perfect, blinded by pleasure, streaks of white flashing across his vision. But then it is over and he is collapsing on top of Rina, careful not to rest his full weight on her body; and still, he doesn’t feel satiated, like he’s missing a vital piece of the puzzle. But he pushes such thoughts away. Lying there, recovering from his high, he notes that Eoni is gone, no longer watching. And maybe that is for the better.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s only a matter of time before he hears telltale footsteps coming down the hall, nearing his door. He knew she’d come, and he leans his head back against the wall as he waits for her entrance. The door creaks slightly, clicking as she closes it behind her and makes her way over to him. For a moment she’s silent, positioning herself against the wall next to him, but not close enough to touch.

“You told her you love her.” Finally, Eoni speaks. 

“I did.” 

“But you don’t love her, do you?” Her question sounds sad, and he finds himself looking over to see that her face is tear-stained. She’s so misguided, led to think things about the world, about love, that aren’t true. It’s almost pathetic that she’s upset by so little a thing. 

“I don’t love anything.” Giving a roundabout answer, he averts his eyes in favor of the floor. He has no place in his heart for humans like her—or humans at all. What does she hope to accomplish? To gain his trust? Something like that…something like that could never happen. He lost all his faith in the human race long ago, betrayed more times than he can count by those who pretended to be kind. 

“Nothing? You don’t love anything at all?” 

“Love is an arbitrary term fabricated by humans to make lust sound meaningful.” Bitter words leave his mouth before he can stop them, but even so, it is the truth. For more than a century he has observed and interacted with the human race, and he has been deceived by the term _love_ before. “Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.” Tacking on an apology, he determines it is better to remain silent about his opinion. Because slaves aren’t supposed to have _opinions_. 

“I don’t think that’s true.” Eoni responds, set in her beliefs. And he is not inclined to change her mind. Right now she thinks she is different from other humans, but in time she will come to be the same as all the rest of them. He’s witnessed the process so many times. And it always surprises him how many humans think they can be _different_. 

“What is the difference between lust and love, then?” Maybe asking her the question is a bad idea. Maybe she’ll punish him for daring to question her. It has certainly happened with other humans before. But something possessed him to ask anyway, wondering if her answer will be different from anyone else’s. 

“Lust is only physical attraction.” After a moment of consideration, she turns to face him, blue eyes piercing right into his green ones. “Love is more than that. It’s when you put someone else’s wellbeing above your own. Love is what drives people to die for each other. Can lust do that?” Her eyes hold determination—he is obviously expected to answer, and though the thought of _arguing_ with a human is terrifying, he fears he may be in more trouble if he remains silent. 

“What you describe…death for someone you love…in the end, that is still just selfishness rooted in lust, isn’t it? Humans glorify sacrifice as the greatest declaration of love, when they only die for each other because they cannot stand the thought of being alone. Given the choice between losing the object they desire and being the one to die, they choose death. Not because they want the other person to live, but because they can’t live without the other person.” Every word hurts to say, knowing that at any moment Eoni could turn this against him. But at the same time, they’re the truest words he’s ever spoken, a reflection of his thoughts that he has never been allowed to express. 

“I don’t believe that.” She whispers, the determination in her eyes fading to sadness. “But even if that were true, wouldn’t that selfishness still stem from love?” This conversation is beginning to make him uncomfortable—he has never broached these topics with anyone before, especially not a human. He feels too exposed, like he has revealed something of himself that leaves him even more vulnerable to the abuse of humans than he already is. Why is she doing this to him? 

“Lust is the desire for something. Whether it be the desire for a sex or the desire to not be alone, it is still lust. Love does not exist.” Nothing has ever proven to him that there is anything beyond selfish desires. Every action of every human can be traced back to lust and self-servitude. They’re such simple creatures, really. 

“Someone must have made you think like that.” Now she’s looking at him like he’s some sort of lost puppy. Pity. It’s always the ones who pity him who gain his trust only to turn their backs on him later. Because they often mistake pity for love, only to grow bored of him and realize they didn’t love him at all. They just felt sorry for him, they needed something to take _care_ of. “What happened to you, Laito?” And suddenly he’s afraid. 

“It that an order?” The last thing he wants to do is talk about his past. Everything that happens to him in this house is painful enough, and to be forced to talk about such a thing to a human would be torture. 

“No, of course it isn’t.” She whispers kindly, backing down from her request. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” Though her apology sounds genuine, he knows it can’t be. There must have been some gain for her from this conversation, something she will use against him later, but there is no point in trying to work it out. It’s not as if he can do anything to stop it. 

“You didn’t upset me. I am here to do as you wish.” He doesn’t want to think about these things anymore, he doesn’t want to think at all. All he desires is to drown himself in pleasure until there’s no thoughts left in his mind to plague him. But Eoni still doesn’t seem to want to use him for that purpose yet. 

“What about doing what you want? Instead of what I, or my parents, want?” Those are dangerous words. Words that are best ignored for his own safety. 

“I don’t have my own will. I live for your desires.” He lies, inching himself closer without touching her. “You are ruled by lust too, aren’t you…mistress?” His final word is breathed seductively into her ear, skin still yet to make contact. A distinct shiver runs down her spine, confirming that his speculation is true. So why doesn’t she act on her desires? 

“Don’t.” Swallowing harshly, her voice barely escapes her mouth, rapt with need. “You can’t touch me without my permission, right? So don’t.” 

“Forgive me.” He responds quietly, putting space between them. But she doesn’t leave. The struggle is evident in her eyes, hands clasped tightly together in her lap. It’s only a matter of time before she gives in; all he has to do is wait for the right moment. His gaze follows her as she stands and leaves the room, the door closing silently behind her. And for some reason, without her presence, he feels lonelier than he’s ever felt before.


	9. Chapter 9

“Filthy whore!” A slap stings his cheek, hardly enough to cause much pain, but enough for him to know just how angry Leila is. “Who gave you permission to screw Rina? I own you!” She hits him again, as if her weak form could hurt him as much as her husband can. But he is in no position to fight back, forced to take his punishment with as much dignity as possible. 

“Forgive me, Mistress—” 

“Don’t make excuses!” She’s become completely irrational, shoving him against the wall, scratching his face, screaming so loud the entire household must be able to hear. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, slut! While you are in this house, you are not allowed to touch anyone but me, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Before he even finishes speaking, she storms out of the room, door slamming behind her. A strange sense of satisfaction fills him, maybe stemming from the indication that Leila has become addicted to him. He’s had customers like this before—the ones who get too possessive. And every time it happens, he relishes in the fact that he has warped a human, maybe even broken one. They deserve so much worse, but it still manages to give him a mild sense of comfort. Except as the days drag on, he begins to realize exactly how Leila is punishing him. 

By lack of contact. 

And that terrifies him more than anything. His only way to escape the confines of his mind, the only way to drown out emotion, is through sex. Alone like this, though, there’s no pleasure to distract him from the pain, nothing to keep all those terrible thoughts from creeping into his mind. It’s worse, far worse, than being beaten, the weeks running together, spilling into months until he’s not even sure someone will ever touch him again. 

Nearly every night he wakes up in a cold sweat, sometimes from nightmares and sometimes from more _intimate_ dreams. But no matter the case, sleep provides no comfort for him, and he feels despair starting to set in. At least when he’s being used, he’s not like this, alone and desolate, no purpose at all. Without a purpose, there’s no reason for him to be here, so why doesn’t he just…stop being here? 

Waking up from yet another dream—not a nightmare this time around—he can’t help a loud groan escaping his mouth. He’s desperate to be touched by someone, _anyone_ , just to stop his thoughts, stop these feelings. No one will do that, though, not with Leila locking him up and keeping everyone else away— 

Are those footsteps? 

No, he’s hallucinating. And he wouldn’t be surprised in his current state. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been, or how much longer it will be. Maybe Leila will leave him in here forever, never to experience human interaction again. But something tells him that can’t happen, because he wasn’t mistaken when he saw the dependency in her eyes. Soon. Soon she will have to see him. 

“Laito?” The voice is female, but it is not Leila’s. 

“Eoni.” He says simply. She shouldn’t visit him now, he doesn’t know if he can control himself. And being found to have forced himself on a human would warrant greater punishment than he can even imagine. If she’s smart, she’ll leave, not get too close. Hasn’t she been taught that things like him are dangerous? 

“I heard—I mean…it sounded like you were in pain.” Inching towards the bed, her face comes into view, holding only concern for him. 

“In pain…that’s a way to put it, I suppose.” He muses, not daring to move. 

“O-Oh…” A blush creeps across her face as she gets the point, and he can’t help finding it a little amusing. Her naivety just makes him want to break her more, but she has to let him in first. She has to give in to her human instincts, give in to her lust, just as all humans do eventually. “Can’t you…I mean…you can fix it yourself, can’t you?” 

“Slaves are…” He trails off, resisting the urge to scoff at her innocent question. In a way, lit only by the half-moon shining through the window, she looks cute. It’s strange for him to think of a human as such. “Slaves are not allowed to bring themselves pleasure. In any way, shape, or form.” 

“That’s awful.” Coming closer to him, she gingerly sits on the bed. Doesn’t realize how dangerous this is? “I can help.” At first, he doesn't believe what she's implying, but his entire body freezes when he feels her hand begin to creep under the covers. The way her fingers burn a trail across his stomach is intoxicating, reaching the rim of his pants and slipping inside. 

“So you’re giving into me—nn!” His hips jerk instinctively as her fingers make contact, hand closing around him. Starved for human touch for _months_ , he can’t seem to do anything but melt under her caress. Breaking her doesn’t matter anymore, nothing matters but the way his body is heating up, the way his skin tingles, the way his stomach twists at the feel of her hand. 

“I’m not. Because I’m only giving you pleasure and not gaining anything for myself.” As she speaks, her hand begins to move, albeit clumsily. But it silences all protests he could possibly think of, only pleasure dominating his mind. Maybe this is some trick and she’ll stop in the middle just to torture him more. 

“Ah—p-please!” Control is starting to slip away from him and all he can think is that he doesn’t want her to stop, she _can’t_ stop. The months of loneliness become a blur, everything fading into this moment. This is how he forgets. This is his only way to drown out all the pain, empty his mind of all feeling and emotion. 

“Kh—mnn—aaaaah!” Emptiness. Emptiness and blind pleasure. Just for a moment, everything disappears, mind filling only with bliss, body sinking into ecstasy. Then it is gone, slipping away from him and leaving only heavy breathing and a feeling of despair. That’s always how it is—there’s only one moment of pleasure before everything comes back to haunt him all over again. 

“I—um—was it…did I do okay?” Eoni pulls her hand away, unsure of what to do with herself…or the sticky substance covering her fingers. She’s blushing furiously, refusing to look him in the eye, obviously embarrassed by what she just did. 

“Yes, you did.” His voice is raspy, breath still coming out in short gasps. “Why?” It’s a simple inquiry, really, but it holds so many more questions. Why come in here only to do something that pleases him? What is her ulterior motive? It makes no sense to him, how she can give him something and expect nothing in return. There must be more to it than he is seeing. 

“I just wanted to help you.” With those words, she’s standing, all but running for the door. And he’s more confused than he’s ever been before, unable to decipher the strange things he feels. All he really knows is that…he didn’t want her to go.


	10. Chapter 10

Eoni doesn’t visit him again for a while, most likely at the decree of her parents. But Leila has taken to seeing him again, finally deciding that his punishment was enough—either that, or she discovered that she has become addicted to his touch, yearning for his body the way she yearns for her husband’s love. He could see it in her eyes the moment she came to him; that tortured, desperate look is one he’s become quite accustomed too. 

Lust is the root of human weakness. Beyond making humans disgusting, deceitful, selfish creatures, their insatiable desires are the source of their greatest shortcomings. They are ruled by their own whims, forced to fulfill their lust even to the point of insanity. He has seen it over and over again, his regular visitors slowly losing all light in their eyes as they realize they’ve become addicts. 

There was a time when he thought he could use the plight of these humans for his own gain, manipulate their weakened minds in order to free himself from the life they forced him to live. But that idea was wistful and impractical—the humans who owned him were prepared for the possibility of a customer being used to a vampire’s advantage, and he saw what happened to the others who tried. Through that, he became and addict himself, though of a different kind than humans. 

It isn’t their bodies he’s addicted too; it isn’t the pleasure either. All the touching, moaning, pleading—it’s all enjoyable to him of course, but those are things he can survive without. The utterly riveting thing about sex is that one moment. The one that comes after minutes—sometimes even _hours_ —of buildup come to their climax, spilling over the edge into ecstasy; the one that comes just before the pleasure fades away and diminishes into nothing but sweat and aching muscles and desire that hasn’t fully been satiated. 

It’s that single, absolutely exquisite moment where he can feel nothing. Everything simply fades into bliss and all the pain manages to dissipate into nonexistence. No emotions clawing at his heart, no tragic past lingering in the back of his mind, no terrible part of himself whispering that it would be better if he never existed in the first place. Just _nothing_. 

And it only ever lasts for a blink, barely any time at all, but every second of his life revolves around attaining that moment as often as he can. Because aside from that, he has nothing else to live for. Without the peace he derives from those moments he would have ended everything long ago. But now… 

Those moments have ceased to be enough. 

Every time Leila visits him, every time she uses him to pleasure herself, he searches for that moment, but every time he finds it, it somehow falls short. He wants _more_. But he doesn’t understand what _more_ means—just that he desires it. It makes him feel sick, like he’s lost the only attachment to life he’s ever had. 

Depression has started to twist inside him, life becoming less and less meaningful as the weeks drag on. Before, he had something. And now he has nothing. Yet he also feels as if he’s clinging to something—a thought, perhaps—and he can’t quite figure out what this _thing_ is. All his thoughts only grow more muddled, every day heightening his dilemma. 

Why does he grow hopeful when he sees a flash of blonde hair? His breath quickens as if it were stolen from him and his skin tingles in a way he doesn’t recognize at the mere thought of seeing _her_. Even when he tries to write it off as his will to live coming to an end, the pieces just don’t quite seem to fit. He feels more lost than he ever has—more lost, even, than when he first came to a full understanding of his purpose in life as a child. 

“Laito?” 

If his un-beating heart could skip a beat, it would have done so, her voice doing something strange to his senses. Shrinking back into the wall he’s sitting against and pulling his feet up onto the bed, he convinces himself that this is a reaction of frustration. Because this is the girl who still hasn’t given into him yet, who refuses to realize her true nature. It must be that—frustration. 

Eoni pads over to him, her bare feet silent against the wood floor. It’s obvious that she isn’t supposed to be here—in fact, he’s become fairly certain that the only people allowed to even lay eyes on him are Leila and his master. So why take the risk to see him? Nothing ever seems to provide any answers, every action—by her and himself—leading to even more confusion. 

“Are you allowed to be here?” He asks, nearly scooting away from her when she climbs on the bed and sits next to him, propping herself against the wall. 

“No. But I didn’t want you to be lonely.” She responds with a bright smile that makes him think, just for a moment, that happiness is real. But he knows happiness is just another one of those emotions that humans feel when they get things the way they want—it’s rooted in selfishness and lust just like everything else. 

“I don’t get lonely.” At least, that used to be true. Rather than respond, Eoni simply gives him a sad smile. It’s a smile that reads into his words and makes it painfully clear that she knows he’s a liar. It will never make sense, how she can see past all of his defenses and into the darkest parts of his shattered heart. It is because she’s different? 

Maybe he _wants_ her to be different. But something like that…something like that isn’t possible. Every human is the same; they are all revolting, ugly creatures out for their own pleasure alone. It’s not possible for one of them to be different. Given the chance, Eoni will succumb to her nature, just as she is meant to. He needs to prove it to himself, otherwise he may go mad. All it will take to settle the outlandish feelings that threaten to consume him is one, small action. 

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t want to be lonely.” A subtle slide closer to her accompanies his words. The hint of sadness in her eyes confirms that he is right—but she was right about him as well, which he still finds unsettling. Drawing closer, he makes sure not to make actual contact, but their thighs are a hair’s breadth away from each other and he twists so that he can face her properly. 

Even as he closes in on her, something inside of him begs her to push him away. It’s entirely irrational—this is what he _wants_. He wants her to give in, he wants her to confirm everything he knows about the human race. Yet at the same time he is desperate for her to stop him like she always does. It doesn’t seem to be the case this time though, her body remaining still as he comes nearly close enough to touch. 

Only slightest movement is necessary for his lips to cover hers, and he can feel any hope he may have had start to die.


	11. Chapter 11

“No.” 

Relief floods his system as he rips himself away from her and leans back against the wall, somehow unable to catch his breath. They never actually touched. That one little fact represents so much, makes a strange emotion blossom inside him that seems to tug the corners of his mouth upwards—just slightly, though. It’s the closest he’s ever come to a genuine smile, as much as he doesn’t understand it. Meanwhile, Eoni’s body is trembling and she has her arms wrapped around her legs. 

“Why say no?” He waits for her to calm herself before asking. “You want to say yes. Why try so hard?” 

“It would be abusive to say yes.” Her silky voice is now raspy, strained, and she keeps inching away from him. It sends a pang through his heart to see the state she’s in, something urging him to take her in his arms and comfort her. Is it need to care for someone important to him? Or simply instinct based on years of conditioning as a child? Humans are evil. Every single one of them. But if that is true, her pathetic, trembling form should disgust him, yet he can’t find it in himself to hate her. 

“Abusive?” Squashing all the emotions he never wanted to feel, he questions her apathetically. 

“To use someone who has no other choice than to obey to satisfy your desires…what is that except for abuse?” The truth of her words renders him silent. His whole life he has been abused, but for it to be put so plainly makes his stomach turn. “Laito…my emotions terrify me. I thought I just pitied you, but it’s more. I love you. I don’t why and I know you’ll never love me in return, but it’s how I feel.” 

“Are you sure you can differentiate between pity and love?” He snaps, recoiling at her confession. “Love doesn’t exist. You are misguided.” The words sound stale, old, hypocritical. It’s more like he’s trying to convince himself because he doesn’t know how to handle the turmoil in his heart. Eoni is the purest human he’s ever met, and if anyone would truly be able to feel love, it would be her. 

“No matter what you say, I will continue to love you. Even if I gain nothing from it. How can an emotion I gain nothing from be ingenuine?” She waits patiently for his reply, but it never comes. There’s no logic behind this, he can sense no ulterior motives. But if he chooses to trust her, it will reshape everything his upbringing has ever made him believe about the world. He’s not ready for that. 

“I’ll always be here.” Fingers brushing against his face, Eoni stands walks towards the door. One hand poised on the doorknob, she pauses, as if waiting for him to say something. _Don’t leave_ , his mind cries out, but his lips remain sealed. Is it pride? Refusal to acknowledge the facts? Whatever the case, her movements continue until the door is closed behind her and the loneliness sets in worse than it ever has before. 

It would have been better if he never came here. Before this, he was carved out and empty, but that was comfortable. Emptiness suits him. He was never happy, he was never sad, all he had was pleasure and a sense of freedom. Ever since coming here, he’s been chained by emotions, trapped in a cage of his own heart, and he would do anything to go back to how it was. This is too complicated. He never wanted this. 

“Make it stop.” A harsh whisper escapes his lips as he clutches at his chest, begging for the strange feelings to stop torturing him. 

“It will never stop.” A woman’s voice startles him. It’s Leila. “Look at what you are. It’s in your nature to be tortured. You’re not even human.” As she speaks, she sits next to him and starts running her fingers through his hair. But for the first time, he is repulsed. Her touch feels insincere, cold, _disgusting_. Sex has been his only escape for his entire life, and now even that means nothing to him. He doesn’t feel hot or turned on—he just feels desolate. 

“Yes, Mistress.” He replies simply. 

“Laito, I have an order for you, so listen carefully.” Leila trails her fingers down his neck, tugging at his shirt. “Don’t touch my daughter. Even if she requests it. She’s a minor and I’m her parent, so my orders overrule hers.” Her voice is soothing, but her eyes spell the consequences if he were to even consider disobeying. 

“Yes, Mistress.” But when he says it, he knows it’s a lie. 

“Good boy.” Those deceiving lips tilt upward, inviting him in, and never has he been more reluctant to accept a kiss. It tastes foul, bitter, like kissing a snake. All his focus goes into trying to enjoy it as things become more heated and she pushes him back onto the bed. Because if he can’t take pleasure in this like he always has, he really has nothing. What would be left for him to live for? 

Those dyed, blonde locks Leila puts so much care into tickle his face as she sits on top of his abdomen, leaning down so her face is hovering above him. Slowly, his body has begun to heat. If he focuses on the pleasure that will follow, he can do it. If he pretends it’s not Leila, he can do it. But who to imagine in her place? 

“Nn—” His body involuntarily jerks when she fits him inside herself, eyes squeezing shut as she presses her lips to his again. Keeping his eyes sealed, he can almost find enjoyment in it. Almost. Though he tries desperately, every moan that leaves his mouth is fake, every plead for more is a lie. He’s supposed to desire this, he’s supposed to be _addicted_ to this. But it’s not enough. With Leila it’s not enough. 

“Laito—ah!” Her movements quicken as she nears her climax, but all he has is a sick feeling in his stomach. But she likes it when they come together and if he fails to perform, she’ll know, she’ll punish him, he has to _do_ something. She’s falling apart on top of him yet he’s nowhere close to finishing, his body refuses to respond the way he wills it to. Maybe as long as she’s pleasured, she won’t notice, maybe it’ll be okay. But he knows that’s not true. 

“A—aaahh!” All it takes is an image—beautiful, golden hair that drifts past her shoulders; soft, blue eyes that draw him in and threaten never to release him; a bright smile that is the sun itself, all wrapped up into one, single person. The memory of her face spurs his orgasm, in perfect time with Leila’s, saving him from the terrible situation he was imagining. 

But it leaves him so much more confused than before; losing himself at the thought of a human…what is wrong with him? He needs to see her. Even if he knows he can’t move from underneath Leila, who is still breathing heavily, he doesn’t feel he can settle the awful feeling in his stomach unless he sees Eoni’s face. Somehow he knows that if he sees her, it will all be resolved. 

Eoni can fix him.


	12. Chapter 12

A few days have come and gone, his anxiety growing stronger every second he doesn’t see her. But it’s not as if he could search for her, not as if he could step out of his bounds and go to see her. The twisted, urgent feeling inside him won’t go away though, no matter how much he tries to ignore it. If she would come see him, he’s sure he can figure out why he’s feeling like this. 

“Laito…” A soft knock followed by her voice perks his attention. He doesn’t know what he expected when he sees her face, but it’s not the strange feeling that wells up inside him and makes him want to wrap his arms around her, pull her close to him. Seeing her hasn’t made him understand anything—it’s made him even more confused than before. 

“Eoni…what do you require of me?” His words sound stiffly formal, struggling to cover up all the emotions fighting for attention within him. 

“I want you to come with me.” She motions for him to follow, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil. That, or she is waiting for the right time to acknowledge it. Standing, he follows her without any hesitation. As much as he knows he should always be on his guard, he can't find it in himself to believe she would be taking him somewhere harmful. 

She guides him down the halls he is rarely allowed to wander in, and he realizes that for most of the time he has lived here he hasn’t been allowed to go much farther than his room and his mistress’s. But something seems familiar about this path. As they continue, the feeling of familiarity doesn’t fade, until their walk brings them to closed double doors. 

Before she even opens them, he remembers exactly where he is. This is the music room, home to the piano he was forced by his master to practice on for hours on end. That must’ve been over a year ago, on Eoni’s 16th birthday. It hadn’t occurred to him how long ago that was, though the months spent locked in his room account for much of the time. But what does Eoni expect him to do in here? 

“You play piano, don’t you?” She peers at him with curious, blue eyes. If he could, he would stare at her eyes forever and lose himself in them, never to return to the terrible life he must live. He can’t entirely comprehend _why_ though. What is it about her that makes him feel safe? 

“Yes, I do.” Though he hasn’t played since the last she heard him. 

“Play something.” 

“What would you like to hear?” Sitting on the piano bench, he poises his hands over the keys, waiting expectantly. Past clients, when asked, had named many pieces he hadn’t heard of, just so they could discipline him in the end for playing the piece badly. Still, the instrument had managed to remain pure to him—one of his only escapes. He can only hope that she won’t be the one to ruin it for him. But it feels like she has ruined so much of him already, so why not this, too? 

“Just play.” She smiles, and he tilts his head at her, confused. “Make something up. I want you to play what you feel.” 

“Haven’t I told you before? I don’t feel anything.” That’s a lie. 

“I don’t believe you. I won’t force you to play, but…please?” Whether he does it out of obligation to follow her wishes or because of the desperate tone in her voice, he doesn’t know—and he’s not sure he wants to—but he lays his fingers across the keys and simply starts to play. 

It’s a gentle melody at first; one of innocence and purity, softness and light. Like an old, faded memory that he’s not even certain is a memory at all. Instead it feels like a wasted, crumpled up dream that was full of hope that never existed in the first place. Joy made sad only by the fact that it could never be a reality. 

Dark notes of betrayal creep into his melody, notes nearly raw with anguish. That was how he felt. When the first human ever betrayed him, it tore him up inside, burned him from the inside out, consumed him until all he had was rage and deep, overwhelming sadness. Those feelings, those terrible emotions, they all happened before he realized that love is a lie, that no human could ever love him just as much as he could never love anything at all. 

The tune turns empty then, hollowed out and devoid of emotion, just like he is. It’s not sad, not happy, not hateful, just…there. A cold wasteland of note after note, never building, never slowing, yet also leaving a sense of longing. Because that’s how he wanted to stay; emotionless, empty, hollow—those things suited him. But she came and tore up his only way to feel peace, chipped away at the wall he had built around himself. 

His fingers have begun to hurt as he plays, the song becoming more intense, less focused as he begins to truly pour his heart out into it. He’s broken, so dreadfully broken, that he doesn’t think he can ever be fixed again. She made him realize that, she made him remember just how lost and alone he really is. 

And those emotions translate into his notes, every single one turning bitter, dark, angry. He hates her for doing this to him, for ruining him in a way he never thought he’d have to be ruined again. What if he’s wrong? What if love is real and he’s been shutting it out all this time, forcing himself to suffer through endless pain and loneliness for no reason at all? 

But if he’s right…if he’s right and love is nothing but selfish lust, then he truly has no reason to live anymore. His life is meaningless, too terrible to bear when there is no hope for a future. He can’t do this anymore, he can’t keep pretending he doesn’t _feel_. Anguish and suffering pour into the melody he still continues to play despite his eyes blurring, despite every wall he’s ever built crumbling down in less than a moment, despite all his suppressed emotions taking over and tearing his heart open. 

Then his fingers stop, leaving the song unresolved. Because there is no resolution. His emotions exist, he can’t fight them anymore, but they’re terrible and vile, making him want to do and say things he knows are wrong. Vaguely, he becomes aware that tears are dripping onto his hands, sliding off onto the piano keys that his fingers remain frozen on. What is he supposed to do? What can he do? 

“I’ve never heard anything so beautiful…or so terrible.” Eoni’s wavering voice comes from behind him, and he slowly looks up at her from his seat on the bench. She’s crying too, tears streaming down her face, matching is own appearance. He knows what he wants to do, what will confirm things for him once and for all. 

A life of human abuse has taught him many things. He knows how to handle betrayal, how to shut people out, how to handle pain, how to properly please a woman in bed—men too. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the moment his lips meet hers.


End file.
